


An Unwanted Meal

by tinknevertalks



Series: Fictober 2019 [30]
Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series, headcanons abound, oxford era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24686017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinknevertalks/pseuds/tinknevertalks
Summary: The other side of the door, with Helen and Patricia.
Relationships: Helen Magnus & Patricia Magnus
Series: Fictober 2019 [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778986
Kudos: 2





	An Unwanted Meal

**Author's Note:**

> The longest of these, I've had so much fun writing about Helen and her mum. There's still more to come (mostly as this story is unfinished) but here it ends for now.
> 
> Prompt - I'm with you, you know that.

Helen gazed up from her seated position on the bed, her mother looming over her in a way she hadn’t since Helen was three. “Not blood, _fechan i_. Never blood.” Patricia’s eyes were changing colour, from bright, light blue to a dark, sickly yellow. The doorknob rattled, the door itself barely moving, but Helen heard nothing of it, hypnotised as she was by her mother’s movements.

“Then what, Mother? Let me help you!” she pleaded, the cries from beyond the door faint and far away.

Patricia touched the underside of Helen’s chin with her index finger, pushing so Helen’s head would tilt backwards. A smirk marred her features before sense seemed to regain control. She pushed her child away. “You can’t help me. No one can.”

“Why?" 

Patricia shook her head. "I refuse to tell you.”

“I’ll find out. I won’t stop searching until I can cure you.”

“There’s nothing to cure, Helen. I am not one of your father’s beasts, or any of your young gentlemen. Leave me so I may rot away in peace.” Her voice, so soothing as a child, rattled through Helen. What could she mean, nothing to cure? But she couldn’t ask, as Patricia had started growling again.

“Mother?” Helen rose to her feet, stepping forwards to bridge the gap between them.

“Feed me!” As she said this, she lunged for Helen, arms outstretched. Clammy fingers started wrapping around her neck but the suffocating pressure never came. Instead arms wrapped around her shoulders, trying forcefully to turn her from her mother. “Let me eat!” was the last she heard before Nigel dragged her away, her father and Nikola between her and her mother.

“Let me go, Nigel. I have to help her,” she said, trying to break free. His grip was strong, stronger than she anticipated, and within moments they were beyond the threshold.

“You can’t help her,” Nigel murmured, turning her to face him. “There is no helping her.”

“But–”

“The Source Blood’s changed her. That isn’t your mother in there.” He looked deep into Helen’s eyes. “And you know that’s true.”

Helen bowed her head. “I just… I had to try.” She looked up at Nigel. “She’s my mother.”

Nigel nodded as James and John joined them. John brushed a lock of Helen’s hair behind her ear, wiping away a tear that meandered down her cheek. “We know,” he replied as Nigel squeezed her shoulders.

The door slammed shut, and Helen turned to see Nikola and her father resting heavily against it, her father panting from exertion. “Fa–”

“Not a word!”

Helen blinked. The last time he spoke in that tone was after her mother’s illness when Helen was six. Anger and disappointment in equal parts coloured his words, but the vein of sadness running through cut her to the core.

“Go down to the drawing-room, all of you.” He looked over his shoulder, grimacing at the hissing and snapping issuing from beyond the door. As they walked the corridor towards the stairs, Helen heard the pitiful, mourning voice of her father. “Oh, Pat. What have I done?”

Helen bowed her head again. Nigel squeezed her shoulders. “We’re with you, you know that.”

“All of us,” added James.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” she murmured, “but I will not appreciate any unnecessary histrionics.”

“Histrionics, us?” Nikola asked, sarcastic as ever.

“I think you have us confused with other people,” John added. “Would we ever debase ourselves with histrionics?”

Helen arched her brow as they arrived at the drawing room. “I shall remember that when the wine runs out.”


End file.
